The Great Possum Affair

My husband Sam had cancer and needed chemotherapy.  When he went into the hospital his mother came to help. Lillie cooked meals, ensured our daughter got off to school, and kept the house running so I could stay with her son. Supper warmed on the stove when I returned every evening. Each round of treatment was more grueling than the last, and Sam became increasingly fragile. Both Lillie and I thought he would die. Her once-a-month visits turned into a six-month stay, and I began to spend nights at the hospital on a recliner that could have doubled as a medieval torture device.  Fear and exhaustion crept in.

I had just settled Sam on the sofa the day he finally came home when Annie, our Brittany spaniel, appeared at the back door with a possum in her mouth, and it wasn’t just playing dead. Sam normally handles those types of National Geographic moments, but he could barely lift his head.   My city upbringing provided little possum removal practice, and all I wanted was to collapse into bed, but I knew procrastination to be ill-advised.  I braced to tackle the task.  

I coaxed the unfortunate creature from the dog’s mouth.  I pinched the tip of its tail between my thumb and forefinger and headed for the kitchen to put it in a zippered plastic bag.  I fumbled in a drawer for a bag with my free hand and held the possum at arms length with the other.  Lillie must have seen me cringe.

“Oh for heaven’s sakes” she said. “Give me that thing!”

“Got it,” I replied through clinched lips, trying to open the zippered bag with my teeth.   

Lillie popped open a brown paper sack that had been lying on the kitchen counter and reached for the possum. “Give it to me," she insisted. “And don’t waste a plastic bag.”

I should have yielded to her seventy-seven years of country wisdom, but I was convinced my zippered bag would contain odor better than a paper sack. I found out I was wrong, but that wasn’t the point.  I was perfectly capable of dealing with a dead possum, and how much could one zippered bag cost? I turned from her outstretched sack and continued the awkward task of maneuvering the possum into the plastic bag while trying to avoid touching it any more than necessary.  I wasn’t trying to be obstinate.  I honestly thought mine the better disposal option.  Lillie disagreed. 

  

 “I said give it to me!” she repeated. “And don’t waste that plastic bag!” 

I felt a flush of anger crawl up my neck. Why I didn’t just give it to her, I don’t know, but at that point it became a matter of principle.  I didn’t want to put my possum in her sack. I wanted to put it in my bag. I unwisely decided to take a stand.

“Lillie, I am putting this possum in this plastic bag right now!” I said, my voice rising, “Do you mind!” I probably should have left that part off.

“Yes!” she replied.

I was stunned, but even more shocked when she snatched the possum from my hand. I grabbed for it, but she was too fast for me. We were squared off in the middle of the kitchen with Lillie clutching the possum behind her back, and with me trying to reach around her to get it, when Sam raised his head from the sofa.

 “Mother, give Bunny the possum.”  

Now those were words I never expected to hear from my husband’s mouth.

Lillie glared at me.  At first I thought she would refuse, but she begrudgingly handed over the possum.  I had emerged victorious.

Without taking my eyes off Lillie, I jammed the possum into the plastic bag and sealed the zipper with a flourish.  I shouldn’t have done that. Lillie snatched the plastic bag with the possum inside, stuffed it into her paper sack, and stomped off towards the garbage.

We have since laughed about “the possum affair” and agree, if fighting over a dead marsupial is as bad as it gets between us, we have done pretty well. It is the only argument we have had in all the years I have been married to her son. 

Reflections:


"Fatigue makes cowards of us all."--Vince Lombardi

“Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion . . . . I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward.”—Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

Temper tantrums, however fun they may be to throw, rarely solve whatever problem is causing them.  ~Lemony Snicket

Remember, "The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath." Mark 2:27 

How does my heart respond to this statement? When the stresses of life threaten to overwhelm me, it is especially important to rest and connect with elements that refresh me, heal me, and nourish me—the sky, the birds, the trees, the flowers—whatever is refreshing, healing, and nourishing.

What renews my spirit?